


choiceless hope in grief

by freezerjerky



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Reconciliation, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19423789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezerjerky/pseuds/freezerjerky
Summary: The promise feels simultaneously like some sacred quest and something too hollow. Hermann doesn’t even have a concept of what home could mean to Newt in the current context. He’s certainly not sure if it’s going to be overwhelmingly difficult to achieve. Part of him just wants to get to the hurdle of getting Newt back, they can work on the rest together. They can struggle when it’s the two of them together. They always made more sense as a pair than on their own.in which neither faith or love alone can save a man





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! It's been many months since I've brought you something in chapters. (The year was 2018 then...)
> 
> This is something that's been knocking around in my head for the past several months that I've finally been able to work on. For some reason, I was inspired by the idea of Hermann as Orpheus and just couldn't shake it and...well, this is what's occurred. Thanks to everyone on twitter who put up with me alluding to this every few weeks.
> 
> As this is a WIP it is subject to rating change and additional tags, but any major tags have already been added. Currently the M is for adult themes and content. I don't have a set approximate posting schedule, but I will update if I establish one.
> 
> Title is from "Talk" by Hozier- I had threatened once to write a fic for every Hozier song and I'm not afraid to do it.
> 
> For anyone tuning in with just chapter 1, this chapter is shorter than future chapters will be!

> _“A god called Love has greater strength than I;_
> 
> _I do not know how well he’s known down here,_
> 
> _But up on Earth his name’s on every tongue.”_
> 
> Book x, “The Metamorphoses” by Ovid

The fairy tale ending is within Hermann’s grasp. He can feel it acutely well in that radiant moment, every fiber of his being believes that they’re going to solve this and everything’s going to be alright. It’s war, literal God-awful war, and this is a prisoner of war, oddly enough on both sides a prisoner- mind a prisoner of an enemy, body a prisoner of them. But he’s moments away, Hermann thinks, from remarkable and blessed freedom.

He doesn’t know what the ending entails, but he does know that it must mean sleep for him. Some peace for Newt, an easy resolution to all of this. There’s a war they’ve nearly completely won, after all, and maybe this is the victory he’ll contribute to the mission.

Watching Newt over the past months has been hellish, it’s been a nightmare that he hasn’t wished for. He’d take the decade of nightmares he had before this. At least with the nightmares he had the joy of waking up, the ignorance of not knowing what was going on with other people elsewhere in the world. Or one other person, alone in his bed.

And now he’s staring down at his own worst nightmare, even if he couldn’t conceive it. Newt had spat cruelties at him, had tried to harm him, and all the while it wasn’t Newt. All the while he didn’t know if Newt was still in existence at all, or if he was snuffed simply and without being given his proper farewells. He can’t think of this, he can’t think of the reality where he thinks Newt’s still around and he’s been gone. Because if that’s the reality he’s in, Hermann needs to be in mourning. He needs time to consider what it means to mourn the loss of this, and it’s not something he can ever recover from, and certainly not recover from easily if there’s any chance.

Hermann needs to focus on the scene at hand, the man hooked up to the pons headset, the man who looks defeated and very much so like the prisoner he is. Newt in his overpriced and tacky clothes is favorable to these scrubs they’ve kept him in these past few months. But those clothes are gone, both the real and new versions of Newt are gone. This figure in a dark room is all that remains.

Slowly, Newt rises. Hermann hears the sound of people shifting behind him but he holds up his hand in warning. Do not come forward. Do not break this spell. There’s a crack, nonetheless, the shifting of an expression as Newt steps forward on uneasy feet. He’s not stood properly in months, not without assistance, and Hermann’s instinct propels him forward. He could be running into the jaws of death for all he knows but in that moment he doesn’t care, Newt needs him.

Reaching for Newt’s waist, he seeks to support him, to keep him upright and steady. Newt, unkempt and unwieldy looks at him for a few moments, unblinking, with the expression of a man who’s simultaneously been killed and resurrected in one moment. A selfish part of Hermann is only cataloguing the color of Newt’s eyes, something he hasn’t been able to observe at this proximity for a decade. When you can’t see something for a decade, it’s entirely possible to forget what it looks like. He doesn’t want to forget.

Newt mumbles something under his breath, it might be nonsense but it’s probably Hermann’s name. Then the awaited moment nearly comes and Hermann’s heart is in his throat as Newt leans closer, his mouth pursed and the dry-lipped, poorly maintained reality doesn’t mean anything in that perfect moment. Maybe there can be other opportunities for things to be in order, this moment is about the urgency.

As Hermann’s eyes drift closed in anticipation, Newt slumps to the floor. Hermann is a fool. This has been a tragedy all along.

Karla, blessed Karla, has made them both tea. She stares at Hermann across his small kitchen table and doesn’t expect him to speak at least until the tea has cooled. The thing about his sister, though, is she always expects him to talk eventually. Hermann’s accepted this, he even has grown to appreciate it. It’s her right as a sister to demand answers.

It’s two in the morning, though, and he finds that he doesn’t know if he can talk. There’s much and yet nothing to say. He sips his tea. Karla always makes his tea just a little bit too sweet, but tonight is not the night to upbraid her about the fact that chamomile doesn’t need sugar because it’s an herbal tea.

“So he’s back,” Karla begins. She’s cupping her own mug of tea and giving Hermann a look over her glasses. “How are you feeling?”

“I-” Hermann begins and falters. “I’ll know how I feel when he’s awake. When I know for sure what they’ve got there. As much as I want him- as much as I want him alive and in control, he’s not a man to exist in halves.”

“Do you know what they’re going to do with him?” she asks, and that question is too heavy.

“I’d imagine he’ll have to face some sort of trial or tribunal, best case scenario...he’s watched his entire life. Worst case scenario…”

The horrifying dread that fills Hermann at the thought cuts into every corner of him. The fear that Newt will be no more takes over again. Is this better or worse? He’s unsure.

“Yeah, I think I know worst case.” Karla takes a sip of her tea. Hermann is truly grateful that she’s here now, that she gave in to Hermann’s plea to help. He’s not sure if he made the plea more for himself or the PPDC, but he knows bringing on one of the world’s most intelligent and innovative engineers is not the worst thing he could have done.

“He doesn’t deserve that.”

“Newt doesn’t deserve that.”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”

“There’s no guarantee that man you’ve extracted, the person you’re taking away from this is Newt himself and not some shade of his former self.”

“You don’t know him like I do, Karla. If anyone could go through what he did and come back fully himself, it’s Newton.”

For a moment there’s silence. Karla is chewing the inside of her lip, a nervous tick she’s had since she was a girl. They were always a sight to behold as children, one twin wringing his hands with anxiety while his sister gnawed at her lip. The primary difference is that Karla mostly outgrew her nervous habits but Hermann has only developed more with age. Karla’s explained to him several times that boys have the privilege of growing up into men who can act awkward but Hermann still feels exposed when it’s obvious he’s feeling the impact of stress or anxiety.

“You do know that science and biology and fate- they don’t really care who Newt is as a person, right?” Karla asks. It’s not meant to be cruel, but it feels like a stab to the heart.

“Karla.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She holds her hands out, a show of something like surrender, but Karla Gottlieb doesn’t know the meaning of the word. “I just don’t want to see you break your heart over him again. You’ve done it enough.”

“Karla,” Hermann repeats.

“And I don’t think he’d want that for you, either. If your Newt is in there, he wouldn’t want to break your heart more than he already has.”

“He was going to kiss me,” Hermann admits. “He stepped forward and the first thing he was going to do was kiss me.”

The face that earns is not one of understanding, but an expression of pity. Karla pities him, and if she weren’t his sister, Hermann would dismiss her from his life for this look and this look alone.

“Hermann,” she says softly and reaches for his hand. “I’m not saying you can’t hope, but it’s been ten years. That’s a lot of time for...everything to change. And I won’t see you throw away the life you have now for a life you had then.”

Hermann stares down at his hand in hers for a few moments, and she gives him a look that he can’t fully decipher. After a few moments, he realizes that she’s looking pointedly at his ring finger, as though this can convey some command to him. He wouldn’t listen regardless.

The PPDC council currently consists of anyone of note who wasn’t killed in the attacks and some governmental boot lickers who don’t know the first thing about the PPDC and what it stands for. Hermann feels like the proverbial black sheep in meetings and he doesn’t have much to say on most of the business, only interjecting when needed. Today, though, he’s leaning forward in eager anticipation. They’ve been called in for a nine am meeting and even on only a few hours of sleep, Hermann feels a jolt of energy coursing through him.

Shepherd, the arrogant American who thinks he runs the world, sits at the head of the table, looking unbearably smug.

“We’ve called this meeting due to the recent developments in regards to Dr. Geiszler who, as we all know, just three short months ago attempted to destroy the world through-”

The blood singing in Hermann’s veins drowns out the rest of his arrogant words. He can see the younger Pentecost across the table casting him both worried and somewhat amused looks. The Marshall sits impassively beside him and that’s all the more disappointing, but Hermann can’t place it. Maybe he was too easily convinced these people were his friends. His family.

“-medically induced coma,” is the last thing Hermann hears, and that snaps him back to reality.

“What the hell are you going on about?” Hermann blurts out. “Is there a medical reason for this decision?”

“Mr.- Dr. Gottlieb, if you were listening you would have heard Shepherd explaining that we are keeping the- the patient in a medically induced coma until we decide his fate,” the softer spoken American, Smith, tries to rectify. “Given the unique situation of Dr. Geiszler’s predicament we believe it is a kindness that he not wake up should the decision be that-”

“That’s unethical.” Hermann stands, slamming his hands onto the table. “If he’s able to be awake, then he has the right to be awake, regardless of what his fate will be.”

Hermann’s transported once again to the thought of there being no more Newt, of a Newt he cannot say a proper goodbye to. He’s not sure if it’s a selfish hope or a truth that Newt would be livid to find out this, that Newt would want to be brave and see his fate through, no matter what it would be. Surely, Newt would want to say goodbye to the people he loved best. It is a selfish hope, Hermann realizes, entirely in his own interests and desire for closure, but he knows Newt would understand.

"We feel that this is-"

"Who is we? I wasn't called on to vote for this!" Hermann snaps.

"Given your bias, it was unfair to allow you to vote."

"I'm a respected member of this council and I should be allowed a vote the same as anyone else."

It's Shepherd, that heartless bastard, who clears his throat to speak again. "Do I need to remind you of your full legal name, Doctor?" 

"That will not be necessary." Hermann settles down in his seat. "We've not been in contact for the majority of the decade and separated for the entirety of that time."

"Was anyone else on the council married to Dr. Geiszler?" Shepherd makes a show of looking around the room. "Listed as next of kin in his paperwork?" A pause. "I didn't think so." 

Hermann spends the remainder of the meeting staring down at his hands. He feels within him a mix of three emotions: hopelessness, rage, and determination. He's not going to just let these bastards do what they want. He won't be complicit in this tragedy.


	2. Chapter 2

The concept, the base consideration of divorce, hadn't come up in conversation during their near decade of separation. This was largely due to the fact that beyond when they happened upon each other, Hermann had hardly seen Newt to converse during that time. 

In honesty, though, he didn't see what was really hurting by him still being legally married. There wasn't anyone else he wanted to be married to and he wasn't likely to want to give it another go, given that his own happily ever after had failed. Perhaps if the right partner came along and requested it, he'd consider.

Hermann didn't dare admit to himself that the real reason he didn't pursue divorce is the hopeless wish that one day Newt would come back to him. But he'd never have wished this on Newt, not in any lifetime.

The benefit of still being legally Newt's next of kin, though, is the mere idea of visitation rights. At first Hermann appreciates the prospect, but stepping into the too bright medical center room fills him with dread and fear and something akin to hatred.

Newt looks small and pale and sunken on the bed, like he's been drained of everything that gave him life. Hermann had thought until this moment that there was no worse sight than seeing Newt completely taken over, to see his body used as a puppet, a tool. He was wrong. Newt's hair is a mess and he desperately needs a shave and despite the fact that he is comatose, Hermann wants to take Newt in his arms.

He couldn't do that regardless, due to the wires and tubes and God knows what else attached to Newt. It isn't a man in front of him, but a beautiful machine. The freckles on Newt's face have faded and there is a hollowness in his cheeks. And this would only get worse with time. The creature the PPDC wants to put on a coffin will look nothing like the man Hermann loved so dearly.

Holding Newt’s hand seems like an indulgence, but he allows himself that much. Newt looks tiny on the bed, thin and wan and his hair tangled. The instinct to tend to him rises in Hermann’s chest, but he knows there’s nothing to be done yet, not until he wakes. If they let him wake. Hermann rubs his thumb on the back of Newt’s hand.

“They say it’s good to talk,” Hermann begins, clearing his throat. “To people in comas, though I suppose that’s not for ones that are being forced upon you. I promise I will get them to stop this, and then you can wake up, Newton. I’m not afraid to do anything to pull you out of this, you know?” He pauses for a long moment. “I’m going to bring you home.”

The promise feels simultaneously like some sacred quest and something too hollow. Hermann doesn’t even have a concept of what home could mean to Newt in the current context. He’s certainly not sure if it’s going to be overwhelmingly difficult to achieve. Part of him just wants to get to the hurdle of getting Newt back, they can work on the rest together. They can struggle when it’s the two of them together. They always made more sense as a pair than on their own.

Someone, a nurse, shuffles in then. This isn’t even a proper medical care facility, Hermann thinks, but rather a singular room set aside in a medical ward. He should have stayed after Newt collapsed and insisted he was moved to a proper hospital. As much as he wants Newt to be able to stand on his own, metaphorically, soon, he also feels a protective need to get him out of the watchful eye of the PPDC.

“Sir,” the nurse says, their expression neutral. “Visiting hours are ending soon and there’s a gentleman to see you in the waiting area.”

“Thank you,” Hermann responds, his face twisting into a frown. He doesn’t feel like dealing with any sort of confrontation at this juncture in his life. 

He lifts Newt hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it before dropping it. He stands, situating himself, and doesn’t dare look back at Newt as he leaves the room. There’s no value in looking back at him.

Preparing himself for the worst, Hermann adjusts his cardigan before stepping out into the waiting room. He’s presented by the sight of a now familiar face scrolling through his mobile phone, clearly not expecting Hermann with any urgency.

“Noah,” he says, shifting into a smile. Noah looks up at him with a far more genuine smile on his face.

“Your sister said you had a rough night and morning so I figured I’d come by to save you from work for the rest of the day,” Noah says, rising to his feet.

“That’s very sweet of you, but I really should return to work. There’s much to be done.”

“At least let me take you to a late lunch, Hermann,” Noah insists. “You can’t work on an empty stomach.”

Hermann actually fully well can work on an empty stomach. He’s been doing it for the past three months and he’ll do it until Newt is awake and well again. If Newt is ever awake and well again. But he’s also not in the mood or in the place to argue with Noah, so he allows himself to be whisked off to a ramen lunch.

Noah allows him the space to process, to sit quietly as they eat, but then the subject that must be on the tip of his tongue tumbles out.

“So your- your Newt is...back?” Noah asks, nudging at the egg he does not want to eat with his chopsticks.

“He’s in a medically induced coma, so we don’t know for certain that he’s back, but all brain scans point to normal activity.”

“They’re not gonna like...put him on trial or anything, right? They can’t.”

“Oh, they are. And when he’s comatose.” It’s enough to make Hermann grind his teeth. “I’m going to fight them tooth and nail on this, if needed. He deserves his dignity, does he not?”

“I dunno.” Noah hesitates for a moment, holding his chopsticks aloft. “I mean, I don’t know what I’d want in that situation. It seems really stressful to go through a trial for all that.”

“He deserves to die a death as himself,” Hermann snaps, and suddenly the whole restaurant seems like the air’s been sucked out of it. “Or to live as himself, he deserves the chance to be himself.”

“I’m just saying, I’m not sure if dignity is what you’re asking to preserve,” Noah remarks, taking another stab at his food. “It’s even more humane than that. You want to preserve his humanity, you think he’d rather live and die as a human but unhappy than never have that again.”

“Y-yes.”

“And hey, I’ve never met the guy, I wouldn’t be here if the guy was still around, but it seems like his humanity was a big part of what made him great, so I get that.”

“He was the most beautifully human man I’d ever met.”

The simultaneously sad and pitying look that follows is enough to make Hermann wish the earth would swallow him whole, but it doesn’t. He hasn’t even begun to actually process what it would mean for Newt to really be back, as himself and as he was a decade ago. Would Newt want to pick up where they left off? Because even under the best of conditions, their lives wouldn’t be that simple, but this isn’t the ideal time for Hermann to resume his marriage. 

He bites his lip, remembering the almost kiss from the night before- how easy it was to melt into those feelings with Newt. That’s unfair to almost every facet of his life, but especially the man sitting beside him. It’s been two years, after all, longer than he was married to Newt- though not longer than he loved Newt. (A painful but ongoing process.)

“Hermann,” Noah cuts in. “Got lost in your head there?”

Newt was chaos, Newt was a swirling, turbulent mass of chaos and Hermann would always crave that. It was a matter of whether he wanted that more than a steady and beautiful thing. Hermann couldn’t bring himself to think of the answer to the question then.

The overhead fan clicks with each rotation and Hermann usually allows the sound to lull him to sleep. Tonight it’s difficult to sleep. He thinks of Newt connected to so many tubes, small and delicate on the hospital bed. He thinks of Newt, ruddy in the sunlight and laughing and singing badly as he plays his guitar and- he can’t think of Newt anymore. It’s bound to break his heart.

Hermann shuffles out of the bed, careful not to disturb Noah sleeping beside him. Noah is nothing like Newt, he’s tall and he’s steady and Hermann could, in theory, be happy with him for the rest of his life. Or happy enough. He fumbles with his pill bottle, shaking out his sleep pills. Most nights he refuses them, but tonight they seem necessary. He needs to sleep because he’s got long days ahead.

He settles back into bed, listening to the continued tick of the ceiling fan. He’s not sure precisely when he falls asleep, but he must do it, because he dreams. He can hear Newt’s voice in his dream and at first that’s all it is, in a sea of whiteness, but he realizes the white is just a tunnel. An end to this. Everything else is black, a creeping blackness encroaching behind him.

At first, this combined excess and lack is comforting. He can move forward, he can walk towards the light, unfailing and unflinching. And there’s Newt, somewhere is his Newt, and he’ll keep walking forever if his Newt is there. He could walk forward with his eyes closed, with an unfailing confidence that cannot be paralleled. It pains his leg, maybe, the further he walks, but that’s inconsequential. That’s a pain and concern of the body and he’s beyond needing to attend to those particular needs.

But what he can’t handle is how faint Newt’s voice is becoming, the sounds like it’s wandering away, despite the assurances that he’s close. That he’s getting so close to the end. And he has to see, he has to try to find Newt, just to see him. As he starts to turn his head, his alarm blares and the next day starts.

The next day, he treats his visit to Newt as a reward for working. In his mad dash to get Newt back, he’s all but forgotten his own job, his normal tasks. Now there’s projects that he’s several months behind on and it’s suddenly imperative to rebuild the PPDC properly again. (The world was saved by a mad dash into the anteverse a week prior, but Hermann wouldn’t allow himself to celebrate. He won’t delve into what it means that saving the world is only a footnote in his existence in this case.)

Nonetheless, he can’t bring himself to stay away much longer than shortly after lunch. He talks to Newt, trying to fill him in on a decade of lost time. He tries not to let his mind wander to what Newt’s decade has been like, but he can only imagine that it must have been hell. Newt’s hand feels cold in his and he wants to give in to the urge to climb into the bed with him and keep him warm, but he refrains.

“Thought I’d find you here,” a familiar voice marks the arrival of Jake Pentecost, who settles down in the other visitor’s chair with the level of comfort he slides into any room.

“Do you need something from me?” 

“Nah, just wanted to see how you’re doin’.” Jake offers a broad grin. He’s so like and yet so vastly different from his father. 

“I’m going to assume this is the part where you tell me you didn’t vote to keep him in a coma,” Hermann says, pointedly not looking at Jake.

“I was pretty opposed to the idea, yeah. Not sure how I feel about the bastard but I don’t think he deserves this.”

“Newton is innocent,” Hermann states levelly.

“I get that. I think, but listen, there’s thousands of people dead and one of them is my sister, and one of them was one of our cadets and many more were people that people I care about care about-”

“He didn’t do that. That wasn’t him.”

“I know, I’m not-”

“I loved them too.” Hermann turns to Jake then. “I grieve for them and I want to take on Newton’s grief for them and carry it with me. But punishing a man who’s been used as a puppet for years isn’t going to bring them back. Newton’s not dead yet, there’s a life we can still save.”

“If you’d listen, you’d hear that I’m on your side, mate.”

Hermann grows still and quiet for a few moments. “What is the council likely to decide?”

“There’s not really a precedent for possession. I’ve argued that he needs to be out of the coma in order to prove he’s innocent in the first place.”

“What’s my chance of having any sway over them?”

“I really dunno there, Gottlieb.” Jake shrugs. Hermann can tell he’s pointedly not looking at the man in the bed. “Your bias is obvious, they want blood for what happened.”

“They had blood. They invaded a whole other bloody dimension and had their blood. This is...this is just a man. And each day he’s like this there’s a greater risk that there will be damage and they know that, they’re chipping away at his brilliant mind and I will not allow it.”

“And what’re you going to do about it?”

“I’ll beg on my hands and knees if I have to.”

“I didn’t know you had it in you,” Jake remarks, leaning back in his chair. He’s got the expression of the cat that’s got the cream. “From everything I’d heard about you, I thought you were a fuddy, collected, boring. But you’re fiery.”

“Newton is a very important person to me. We shared something meaningful and while I know that’s gone, his well being and happiness are a top priority for me.”

“I know a bit what that’s like.”

Jake pats Hermann’s knee before rising. He gives one long look at Newt, but his expression doesn’t betray anything, not sympathy nor disgust. It’s clear he’s been preparing himself to give the neutral look for the duration of his time in the room.

Hermann focuses his attention back on Newt. He wonders if it's possible to request a razor to shave his face, or a comb for his hair. This wouldn't accomplish anything but quelling a vague unease in Hermann's stomach, but that's certainly worth the venture. 

The realization dawns on him then that he hasn't let go of Newt's hand the whole while he's been sitting with him.

It's well into the evening when Hermann returns to his apartment. Part of him wants to stay curled up in the hospital room with Newt, but this will accomplish nothing, he knows. 

When he arrives home, Karla's already in his apartment with some cheap takeout pizza. The pizza is going cold but Karla doesn't outwardly acknowledge that he's late.

"Noah texted me saying you slept poorly and that you were planning to work late, so I brought you dinner," she explains, eyes fixed on a game on her phone.

"It wasn't some magical twin power?" Hermann jokes.

"Psh. That only works for siblings who like way other. How was your day?"

Hermann settles down on his couch, leaning down to remove his shoes. How was his day? It was not long enough and yet went on for ages.

"It was too much," he answers. "I'm late because I spend an hour arguing with a nurse that I should be allowed to shave Newton's face."

"Hermann." Karla looks up at him. 

"He wouldn't want to look like he does. And he does because they've mistreated him, I see no harm in the request."

"He's not- you don't have to take care of him. You need to take care of yourself."

"I'm his next of kin. I'm his husband."

"And who did you spend your night with last night?" Karla asks. 

For a moment Hermann hates her for not understanding, but he doesn't understand himself. He doesn't know what he'll do if he has to confront the situation. It's easy enough to say to himself that he hasn't seen Newt in a long time and he's no longer in love with him, but it's easy to lie to himself in a lot of ways. Besides, having feelings for Newt doesn't negate his current relationship. But having a new relationship won't erase his history with Newt. 

Karla's expression is expectant, she's wanting a verbal answer so Hermann can hold his fool self accountable.

“I spent the night with Noah. My partner,” Hermann states. “Who I was with because I thought Newton didn’t love me anymore, because I thought Newton wanted to leave me. And did leave me.”

“And he did leave you. Remember that.”

“Oh, fuck off, Karla.” He rises off of his couch, he’s not going to listen to this.

“You can’t throw away a good thing-”

“I don’t know! I don’t know if it was him that left me or he was forced to leave, don’t you get that? You wouldn’t blame someone for leaving you if they were...kidnapped, would you? He was helpless and alone and I was supposed to take care of him, so stop acting like you know anything about what I’m going through right now.”

It takes every ounce of self control to keep from slamming his door like he’s an angry teenage boy again. Instead, he storms to the kitchen to furiously clean the several days’ worth of dishes that he’s let pile up. Karla steps into the room with a sheepish expression a few minutes later. She immediately takes up the station of drying the dishes, an old routine they hadn’t engaged in since they were eighteen years old, since Karla left home for good.

“When we were younger, I resented the fact that you loved someone and spent so long not acting on it,” Karla explains. “And then I resented the fact that when you got that love, it seemed like that all consuming kind. The kind you only read about. I could barely get a girl’s number those days.”

“Karla, you have a fantastic partner now, you know, and I think she worships the ground you walk on.”

"Oh, I know." Karla puts the dish towel down. "But this is about you. What happened when he left."

"It wasn't him."

"Love isn't meant to be like that, not without burning itself out. It rarely ends with a whimper, it's always a bang. And I'm always going to feel as though he's hurt you too much."

"You like Newton," Hermann remarks, taking the towel from the counter to dry his hands.

"I love Newt. And I like him more than I like Noah. As a person. But aren't we a bit old to be throwing ourselves into these romantic fantasies? Don't ignore the love that's being offered to you."

Hermann crosses his arms. "I'm not taking relationship advice from the woman who asks her tarot cards if she should date someone."

"You just have no sense of fun." Karla pats Hermann's arm as she walks back to the living room. "I'm crashing on your couch tonight. You really need to turn your office into a second bedroom."

"So you'll never leave?"

"Yeah, duh." Karla laughs.

Hermann stands in the kitchen for a few moments longer. He has to acknowledge the truth in Karla's words, but he doesn't know who or what he would choose if given the choice between the two men. This need to see Newt alive and free isn't so he can love him and claim him, but because he's loved him so dearly he can't bear to see him hurt.

It's not more complicated than that.


	3. Chapter 3

The next council meeting isn't set for another two weeks. On one hand this is good, it gives Hermann more time to prepare what to say and do. But he also knows that each passing day means Newt's body is weaker and he holds a greater risk of his mind not recovering.

After looking pitifully sad for three more days, one of the doctors finally lets Hermann have a razor to shave Newt's face. His hands do not falter, even as he fears the slightest nick to Newt's skin. The shave does not make Newt look more like himself and, in fact, only accentuates the sallow skin and slightly sunken cheeks. 

Hermann debates if he's justified in crying over this. It feels like he's looking at Newt's corpse, like he's already dead and gone. And he's not even sure this is inaccurate, except he can see the rise and fall off his chest, and the monitor betraying Newt's steady heartbeat.

Earlier today, he spoke with Newt's father on the phone and told him about the development. Jacob hasn't seen his son in a few years and he's not well enough to travel, but hopefully by the time Newt wakes things will be different. Even with explaining the situation clearly to him, Jacob is confident this is a when and not an if they're dealing with. Good parents, Hermann understands but does not know firsthand, tend to have this sort of blind faith in their children.

Rather than focusing on his negative and morbid thoughts, he holds Newt's hand and tells him everything that his father said when they spoke. Some of the darkness, the cloudiness seemingly hanging over his head, dissipates. Newt would like to know what Jacob has to say about him, and if he were awake he’d be laughing and smiling as Hermann speaks. Even on his worst days, Newt’s father would make Newt smile.

He stays until the end of visiting hours yet again and the nurse can only shake their head with an exasperated fondness at him. 

Neither Karla or Noah make an appearance at his apartment that night. Hermann welcomes the quiet of the evening, even if his mind is filled with unpleasant things. For the most part, he's used to this solitude. After all, he's learned how to be on his own.

Hermann was not unhappy with his life alone, in fact. Once the dust cleared and settled again after Newt's departure, Hermann resumed many of the things he'd picked up in the years before joining the PPDC, when he was a younger man. In many ways, Hermann knows he's designed for this solitude. There was part of him that had hoped he’d find someone to share that solitude with, though.

When he goes about his day to day life, there’s scarcely a trace of the life he’d built years ago. It’s just not feasible, given that most of his courtship with Newt was spent bickering in a lab and his marriage was spent with the marriage falling apart. There was never the chance to settle into anything like a true routine to miss a routine with his husband. For years it was a mercy and now it’s a lead ball rolling in the pit of his stomach. They were still newlyweds then, with the world at their feet.

They were happy, Hermann had felt it in the parts that connected them, even at their lowest they were happy together. But happiness cannot sustain a love, any more than love can sustain a marriage or bring a man back from the brink of hell. Perhaps, Hermann thinks, hell is a slightly hard judgement of the fate that Newt faces. Hell isn’t something Hermann really believes in, in any capacity and it seems cruel to wish it on Newt in this way. But something about it seems all too apt.

Hermann’s night is quiet. He makes himself dinner and checks personal emails afterwards. Despite the chaos in his mind, he even finds time for some television and climbs into bed at a moderately early hour. As much as, internally, he feels like some hero in a romantic novel in some ways, he’s still very much a man of the real world- tethered by a need for comfort and sleep and an aching hip.

Before bed, he sends some texts to Noah and attempts to read a book one of the cadets had recommended to him. As much as part of him feels guilty for the fact that he's not literally staying up all night, the fact is he's in bed and he's warm. Hermann drifts off to a peaceful sleep. He’s had his sleepless nights over the past few months and it doesn’t serve him to revisit them at this moment.

Hermann dreams that night of darkness. He only knows it's a dream by the clawing and growling, the wails that ascend through the air around him. Despite this, he feels serene as he descends. There's no need to ask where he's descending, he knows. He feels compelled to go by something calling to him. His body sings with want and need and a desire to follow that voice to the ends of the earth.

At the end of the path, there's a large black door. Hermann cannot see it, but he can trace the engravings under his fingers. There's no need to make sense of what's written there, whatever it is it's not for him to know. He frankly doesn't care. What he does care for is pushing the door forward, stepping out of the darkness into the warmth and confusion. At the end of this, he'll find clarity.

The cadets have decided to crowd outside of the hospital room door. Cadets is probably an incorrect nomenclature as they're all rangers now, but given their young ages and tendency to group together, it's still easiest to refer to them by this title. They’re still children.

Hermann tries to pay them little mind. He knows they've all built Newt up to be something he's not in their minds, and he remembers what it's like to be young and curious. If anything, he's surprised it's taken them a week to show up. This is a level of self control that he’s not used to from the teenagers.

He's just risen from his seat to brush some hair out of Newt's face when the cadets choose their sacrifice and push Amara into the room. Hermann doesn't know Amara as well as the others, he hasn't had the chance to get to know her. What he does know is that she's spunky and resourceful and especially bright. This means he likes her a good deal.

"Hey Dr. G." He's asked the cadets to call him this because something about teenagers calling a man of his age just by his last name seems off. The G is a compromise.

"Good afternoon, Amara. It seems you're so taking a break this afternoon," he greets. There's whispers outside the room.

"Is it true that you and Newt are married?" she asks, cutting to the chase.

"Legally we still are, yes. We've been separated since...October of 2025. I've scarcely seen him since then."

"But you would know if he's like actually a good guy, right?"

"I would know without having been involved with him, yes. Newton is a good person, he didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why's he like this?"

She's not trying to hurt anyone, she's a curious person and perhaps too blunt. It still stings when Hermann hears the skepticism in her voice.

"Because the council wants someone to pay for what happened."

"Hardly seems fair when he can't defend himself at all."

“Each day he’s like this, it increases the chances of permanent damage.” Hermann reaches out for a moment but stops himself from stroking Newt’s cheek. “So they’re punishing an innocent man.”

“Aren’t you legally the one who’s supposed to have a say in what happens to him, though?”

“The PPDC operates under its own rules. Were he in a public hospital, under a normal government, yes.”

“But that’s still bullshit-” Amara pauses when Hermann gives her a warning look for swearing. “They’re violating your rights and his.”

Hermann looks down at Newt, the faded facade of his Newton. He hates this, but he has to remain his usual firm self.

“You are right, of course. But I don’t have much to stand on when they think he killed thousands of people.”

“How long until you can tell them to stick it where the sun don’t shine?”

“A week.”

Amara stands awkwardly beside Hermann’s chair for a moment, but then reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. “Then no matter what they decide, this is only a week more, right?”

This is meant to comfort, he knows. Amara is a child who is trying to act like an adult, a child who is forced to be an adult. However, Hermann doesn’t find any comfort in this. He’d take a lifetime of agony over a decision being made to hurt Newt, to keep him like this or worse. He thinks of those few moments he had seen Newt after the rescue, how he’d moved forward. When he closes his eyes, he imagines what would have happened if Newt had kissed him, but then realizes everything would be exactly the same. He’s selfish for wishing for that, and a bad partner considering the fact that he’s promised someone else fidelity. But he promised Newt too, and he never would have chosen this for both of them. He doesn’t even realize that Amara and the other cadets leave, he’s got better things to focus on.

He’s been preparing a speech in his head for days, parsing over words the way he’d choose his clothes years ago. Everything is shabby and worn and likely not impactful, but it’s what he has. The council will not allow him much time to speak, and he suspects it’s the doing of the Pentecost-Lambert duo that he’s able to speak at all. It’s ridiculous just how little influence he has after helping save the world not once but twice. Hermann chalks it up to the downside of looking unassuming and meek, but he knows it’s because he’s one of the only people in the room who dares to bring up sentiment.

How the times have changed with that, though. The softness, the sentiment, is all the influence of Newt digging around in his brain. And this is not just the drift, it’s dismissive to say their emotional and mental intimacy was solely because they shared a few moments in the same headspace. After all, that rotten kaiju brain was there with them and that leads far too much credence to the thing singing lies in Newt’s skull for the past decade of his life. No, this was because Newt took a weary and tired man, he took Hermann at his worst, and claimed him. He claimed his heart in their shared life in the Shatterdome and his hand in a courthouse a few short weeks after they’d closed the breach. There’s a possessive streak in Hermann, but it’s more a desire to have someone claim him than to claim anyone. Newt was and will always be a free thing who can do what he wishes, otherwise he’d stop being himself.

And Newt’s gone long enough not being himself.

The night before the meeting (the trial, call it what it is), Karla stays with Hermann. She’d come by earlier in the evening to sit with him and Newt for a few moments. Despite her bluntness, Karla doesn’t say her goodbyes, but Hermann knows that’s what she’s doing; a goodbye just in case.

Hermann can't bring himself to do it, so he walks away early that evening. If he pretends it's a special night, than he's admitting defeat. Karla looks back into the room to glance at Newt one last time, but Hermann doesn't dare look back. He's looked his fill at Newt in all of his forms, so there's no point in remembering this one. This one isn't remotely close to what he wants to remember of Newt anyway, even if the very worst would happen.

Karla orders them takeaway and opens a bottle of Hermann's red wine. She insists he has half a glass and he appreciates the way it settles his nerves. After dinner and the half glass that's turned into two, he excuses himself for the bathroom and Karla doesn't say anything when he returns looking pale. 

They sit and play a few card games, the way they would entertain themselves as children on holiday. It's not exactly the same without their elder and younger brother cutting in, but Hermann appreciates the momentary transport to another time and place.

"So..." Karla begins, peering at Hermann from over her cards. "What are you going to say to the council?"

"I've been debating shouting at them. Maybe whacking Shepherd over the head with my cane for good measure."

"I fully support that venture," Karla smiles at him. "But I think you'll be more articulate than that."

"I'm not one for the big speeches. That's not who I am, I'm not rough and tumble and I'm certainly not a man of action."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Hope," he says. "Hope in human decency."

Karla shakes her head, but it's not dismissive. It's fond. She's given Hermann this look countless times in their lifetime and he understands the intricacies of it.

"That's a big hope to have, Hermann," she admits.

Instead of answering, Hermann excuses himself for the bathroom again. He dry heaves and stays on the floor in defeat for longer than strictly necessary. It's too big of a hope. He can't give an answer to a mystery or a precedent for why Newt should be free. There is no rule or ruling on what to do in the case of possession. But he won't allow himself to not say this, to bury his love deep down simply because there's no easy answer.

When Karla knocks on the door, he tells her to come in. She sits silently with him, staring down at her shoes. He's reminded of a lanky and awkward version of her, about thirteen, with braces and frizzy hair. Now she's polished, free spirited and strong. Hermann envies her strength.

"If they decide he dies, I'll find a way to wake him," Hermann declares. "If he's a prisoner for life, I'll wake him. I'm being selfish, maybe, but someone needs to tell him this is not his fault. That he's still loved."

"That's pretty far to go for an ex," Karla says, reaching for his hand.

"We both know he's more than that."

"Alright there, Heathcliff. Calm down the romance novel drama. Don't dig up the body and sleep next to the corpse."

"That's not funny."

"It is a tiny bit."

"Newton is donating his body to science. Unless he's changed his will in the last decade."

"That wasn't my point."

"I know your point. I am focusing on the reality ahead of me. He's not exactly a sleeping beauty in that coma, you know."

Karla reaches forward and pats Hermann’s knee. “Wouldn’t it be great if it was that simple? True love’s kiss and he’s awake and well and everyone believes he’s a hero?”

“You mean the truth.”

“Hermann, we’re not all out to get you.” She sighs and shifts closer so she can put her arm around him. “In fact, most of the people you care about want the same thing you do. I want him to come home to you.”

He finds that he’s clenching his jaw and he’s not sure why. Karla is supporting him, she’s wishing him well. But it feels hollow, he thinks. It feels like there is no longer a chance for a complete victory and everyone who looks at him pities him. Moreover, he pities himself and that’s a dangerous road to travel down. Newt would not pity him, though, at his lowest Newt would never give him a look of pity. Perhaps concern, but Newt would be there with him, would tell him he needs to get up and keep going. Challenge him to find an answer.

In his mind, he’d built up this trial to be like some grand jury. Instead it’s done as all of the world’s most pivotal decisions, in a room lit in fluorescent lights with too many people cramped inside. Hermann’s not allowed to sit with the other members of the council, due to the fact that he’ll be speaking. Instead, he’s sat with a few other character witnesses- two employees of Shao industries who do not think so favourably of Newt and an unexpectedly welcome face. When he catches sight of Tendo, the other man’s face breaks into a smile and he waves at Hermann. But then it’s immediately back to seriousness.

Hermann’s wearing a suit for this occasion. It doesn’t fit particularly well, or perhaps it does fit well and that’s the issue. The color is muted, grey. He’s sentimental enough to wear the tie he wore on his wedding day, which doesn’t match the rest of the ensemble. The goal isn’t to look good, but to be comfortable as he swelters in this room. There’s too many people, too much body heat. The sweat is already slipping down the back of his neck when he sits down, taking his place next to his old friend.

“How’ve you been?” Tendo asks quietly.

“I’ve been better, of course. These few months have not been easy,” Hermann says, staring ahead. There’s no one seated in the defendant’s seat. Why would there be?

“I’ve heard they haven’t been so hot. I’m, uh. I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

“You’ve got a family and a life elsewhere, I expected nothing else from you.”

Tendo’s son must be nearly a teenager by now, a stark reminder of the passage of time. It’s not been a full lifetime since they were all together, but near enough.

“Either way, about a week ago I got a call from this Karla woman who insisted I come here for this. And I remembered that you had a sister who happened to be named Karla,” Tendo explains. “So I’m going to plead my old friend’s case.”

“Thank you. It means the world to me.”

“It’s nothing.” Tendo leans in and claps a hand on Hermann’s shoulder. “You still seeing that guy with the impeccable hair?”

“Tendo, now’s not the time.”

“So, yes.”

“Yes.” Hermann nods. “Noah is still my partner, whatever leading questions you’re going to ask can wait until after the outcome of this trial.”

“Well if you need a hand to hold...I’m right here.”

Hermann looks at him for a long moment, sizes up his friend. Tendo is dead serious about this, offering himself as a literal support in this time. With so many of the men around him being mechanics or pilots or just avoiding him altogether, he’s forgotten the goodness of a genuine platonic affection. Gratitude blooms in his chest.

The trial begins with context setting, with a scientist who is certainly not Hermann explaining the process of drifting the drifts Newt had undergone, and the final drift that was used to save him. Hermann’s still not sure it was the drift itself or the near decimation of the precursors, and the certain destruction of the awful brain in Newt’s room. They’d hooked him up, nonetheless, made him drift with three different people- all of who had drifted with several others in their lifetime. It wasn’t a hivemind by any means, but it meant there were several different sets of memories floating in the drift. There was enough.

It's harder to hear the character witnesses, the almost gleeful defamation of character. Hermann wonders if these people have the full picture, but then he remembers that Newt has pointed a gun at them. He's stood by while Newt points a gun at people. But that's not Newt, that wasn't Newt. That's the point of this whole venture.

When Tendo stands in front of the room, he tells a different story. He talks of a warm and friendly, albeit awkward, man with big ambitions all for the good of the world. He harkens back to a different time, when no one was sleeping and only the very dedicated remained. There's no fear in his eyes when he looks at the council and reminds them that some people didn't walk away when things were desperate, some people fought and risked their lives. Even if the feelings themselves are genuine, it’s a calculated move, and one that Hermann himself intends to carry the thread forward on. This isn’t a man who would willingly try to destroy the very world he almost died trying to save. If Newt’s true intention was to destroy the world, why would he have risked his life to save it against the wishes of everyone else?

Hermann barely notices when he’s being called up, he’s so tuned into his own thoughts. He blinks a few times, then slowly rises. In the crowd, he sees a few familiar faces, but it’s difficult to bring himself to look at any of them. This isn’t some sideshow to look on with awe and amusement, this is a final stand, a final plea. But Hermann knows this is unkind, many of the people in this crowd are here to support him and, more importantly, to support Newt.

When he’s up front, seated in the glorified interrogation chair, he faces towards Shepherd, the bastard, who seems to think he has any power. There are no lawyers here, no men trained to make these arguments. The PPDC wants to handle its own affairs, to seek its own vindication. If he had time, Hermann would take this higher, take this to some other security council, to the appropriate government. If this was a case of morals, he definitely would, but this is a case of life or death and he can’t risk death.

Shepherd goes down a list of basic questions to ask Hermann- who he is, who employs him, he’s surprised for a few moments that he’s not being asked his age or identification number. The man looks so unbearably smug when he asks how, specifically, Hermann’s connected to Newt. He won’t be daunted.

“Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann explains, “is a former colleague, we worked together for over half a decade. He’s also my long estranged spouse, but nothing about today has to do with either his or my marital status.”

“Long estranged as in…”

“Approximately ten years. We were married for a brief time.”

“Technically you still are,” Shepherd corrects.

“Legally, yes. But most rational human beings would not regard two people who have seen each other less than a dozen times in a decade, when they both have the ability and means to see each other more often, as married.”

Hermann tries to hide the frown that’s threatening to creep on his face. He wants to appear cold, calm. As neutral as possible.

“Of course, of course,” Shepherd concedes.

“May I continue with my testimony?” Hermann asks, iciness in his otherwise polite tone of voice. “Dr. Geiszler is as much of a victim of the Precursors as anyone else who has been harmed or lost in this war. There is no evidence that he himself masterminded the plan that led to an attempt of ending the world, and there is certainly no evidence that his assistance was willing. You can all clearly see a marked difference in his scans from before and after the series of drifts that eventually led to him regaining control of his own body. And I can personally attest to the remorse he feels for his actions, in a moment of clarity we shared before-”

“Before he nearly killed you.”

“Oi, Shepherd,” it’s Jake that speaks up then, looking annoyed from his spot with the rest of the council. “Let the man say what he’s here to say.”

“Just because some of you have a sentimental attachment to this man and-”

“It’s not sentimental, with all due respect,” Jake continues, his tone mocking. Hermann’s surprised to see just how approving Lambert looks beside him. “It’s earned respect of a man who’s helped us win not one, but two, wars. Very few people in this room can say they have that honor, now shut the hell up and let the bloke proceed so we can make a fair assessment of the case.”

The silence in the room is palpable, but it’s enough. Hermann has to take a few long moments to collect his thoughts and formulate his words again, but he manages before the silence becomes awkward.

“Newton showed remorse,” Hermann remarks. “His entire demeanor changed, and it changed in the moments when he was released for the first time in over a decade. And I do know this because I knew him so well, but that’s exactly why I should be trusted on this matter. Because I know that man better than anyone else- and I have science to back this up, that’s true enough. But you won’t listen to facts, you’ll listen to shouting and the desire for blood. I’ve lost people I care about as well as so many of you here, people I’ll never get to see again. He- Newton, he’s lost people, too. He lost himself for a decade, ten years of being piloted by something else. Do you know how long ten years is?”

The silence returns, but it’s deafening in those moments.

“That’s nearly a quarter of his life, half the time I’ve known him. Half, and you accuse me of bias based on the first half? I know what you want, all of you in this room. You want justice, you want closure because wars do not always bring closure. There are still bodies to account for. And you’re asking for one more, and I can’t stop you from taking your revenge. I can’t stop you from martyring this man, but I can remind you that he is a good man. That the thing you’re trying to punish him for happened because of a risk he took to save all of our lives. And I ask you to not forget that, for the rest of your lives.”

“There’s no way to prove for certain he won’t return to that state,” Shepherd interjects.

“You have my word,” Hermann states clearly. That’s bold of him, because he doesn’t actually know this at all. There’s no precedent and no way of knowing what will happen. "Whatever punishment you think is appropriate for him, I'll undertake as well. Because I know what I'm saying is true, Newton is a good man who will continue to do only good if you grant him his freedom. If he does not, you may punish him as you see fit, and punish me as well as a liar.”

He catches sight of Karla then, standing in the crowd. She looks upset and politely excuses herself. Or excuses herself as politely as Karla can. Hermann knows putting his life on the chopping block is bold and rash, but he doesn't care.

"Do you need anything more from me?" Hermann asks. There's the threat of tears in his eyes, but he won't let them fall.

Karla looks angrier than Hermann ever remembers her being, but she doesn't say anything as she sits on the bench. Hermann has been pacing since they were all dismissed and he doesn't know how one body can contain so much anxiety. There's a chance he will fall over dead there and then. They’re waiting outside of the council room, and it feels like it’s been ages already.

"Why did you say what you did, Hermann?" Karla asks at length. "Why did you- what the hell did you think you were doing?"

"I was doing everything I could to try to help him."

"By saying whatever they do to him they should do to you? Those morons in there don't listen to anybody- you tick them off enough and they actually will."

"They wouldn't actually-"

"Is this some kind of can't live without him bullshit? Because you've been without him for a long time now, you know."

"It's not." Hermann pauses in his pacing. "But he needs someone to fight for him and no one's loved him like I did."

"Did or do?" Karla asks, she her tone has gained some softness.

“Do,” Hermann answers firmly. What he’d do with the love, given the chance, is up for debate, but that he feels it is an indisputable fact. “I will always love him, but I don’t need him, and he’s just about proven that he doesn’t need me. I offered my life because I believe in him, and I believe that perhaps, fundamentally, those people in there aren’t terrible people.”

“I’m not breaking you out of prison if they decide to lock you up forever,” Karla states, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. She pats the bench beside her, insisting that Hermann sits. Never one to deny his sister, he sits beside her, and even takes her offered hand. “You do know that nothing they decide is going to be kind to him? That there’s work ahead even if-”

“Can you allow me a victory, Karla? I don’t know what it’ll be like for him, you’re right, but it’s better than the alternative.”

Instead of speaking, Karla squeezes his hand, and he’s grateful that she’s not continuing. Hermann already feels he’s on the verge of an embarrassing meltdown of sorts, and it’s tough enough to be holding her hand without leaning into her for comfort. With each passing moment, all Hermann can be guaranteed is that it’s a difficult decision being made. Though, he supposes, at the very least this means at least one person is on his side. Maybe more are.

Hermann closes his eyes for a moment, thinks of Newt on his hospital bed, small and pale. There’s so little of him in that image, such an incomplete view of Newt as he should be. For the briefest hint of a moment, he tries to dwell on Newt’s smile, but he’s interrupted by the clearing of a throat and an insistent demand that they’re reconvening.

His feet are leaden for the walk, heavy and burdensome. But he manages, because regardless of how loudly his anxiety screams, what happens happens. He must keep moving forward and cannot dwell on anything. Dwelling will get him nowhere. It’s amazing just how much all eyes seem to be on him when he’s seated in the room again, this makeshift courtroom of injustice. He knows he’s the focus, because his reaction will be golden. Something in Hermann is determined to give no response if the news is bad.

It's surprisingly not Shepherd that speaks, but Jake. Hermann's not going to be sure if he's happy or disappointed in the change until he hears the verdict. Jake looks as neutral as he can be, and reads from a paper.

"The council, through extensive testimony, review of scientific reports, and evidence analysis has reached a verdict in the case of Dr. Newton Geiszler vs...well, the world." It's clear the final part is ad libbed, the rest feels scripted and uncharacteristic. "After hearing cases from character witnesses, and consulting the findings of Dr. Geiszler's mental state over the past decade, the council has reached a nearly unanimous decision."

Hermann's palms are sweating. His forehead is sweating. He wonders if he can just dissolve.

"The council has reached the verdict that there is no case against Dr. Geiszler," Jake continues. "As such, he is innocent and we will move forward with no criminal charges, under the condition that he is under the conservatorship of his next of kin." 

Jake pauses then, surveying the room. His father could command the room as well, but Jake is a showman. Hermann appreciates this sometimes, but not at this particular moment.

"Gottlieb," Jake continues in his pleasant tone. "Do you agree to this?"

The words stick in Hermann's throat, he's forgotten what language he's even supposed to speak now. Somehow he manages. "I do."

The world expands into noise and brightness then before narrowing down into the singular pinpoint of lightness, but Hermann's not sure if he's just imagining it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really truly apologize for the delay in chapter- I've had work and then two eye surgeries, which made writing all but impossible but I'm BACK BABY!!!

Hermann isn't present when Newt wakes up this time. It's a slow waking, anyway, and despite being taken out of stasis, Newt sleeps for a few hours more. Perhaps it's cowardly, but Hermann waits until there have been a few additional brain scans to see Newt. He doesn't doubt that he's free, but he does doubt that he's fully himself. After all of this, he cannot take meeting with Newt and finding anything but the man he knew staring back at him.

Nonetheless, he's still the first to see Newt after he's truly and properly awake. The smallness hasn't ceased, even with him propped up in the bed. The dark circles under Newt's eyes look dark enough they could be mistaken for bruises. For a moment, the faintest hint of a smile appears on Newt’s face, but he quickly tucks that away.

The gravity of the fact that this will be the first he's spoken to Newt and Newt alone in a decade hits him hard enough he staggers on the walk to the bedside. He perseveres. 

"Newton," Hermann says softly. He feels like weeping, but that will accomplish nothing. "I'm sorry."

Newt blinks at him a few times, as though it's taking longer than usual to process information. Maybe it is. It makes sense that it would.

"No," Newt answers. "Not sorry."

"Not sorry?" Hermann asks and takes a step back. 

"Nothing to be," Newt clarifies. "No need."

Hermann agonizes over what to say next, to accept this, to tell Newt that he's missed him. He needs to find the phrase that will best serve Newt now, not himself. He's going to help Newt climb out of this. The urge to hold him is quelled by the tubes and IVs and the fact that Newt almost looks breakable like this.

"Did they tell you what they've done to you?" Hermann asks delicately as he takes his place in the seat next to Newt.

"Yeah, I think." Newt's expression is pained. "Nothing on what I let happen to them."

"You didn't let anything happen."

"I was there."

A nurse comes in then, holding a tray. They don't look surprised in the least, after Hermann's status as a fixture over the past few weeks.

"It's lunch time, Dr. Geiszler."

"Newt," Newt says feebly. Hermann can't imagine that words are the easiest for him right now.

"Hmm?" the nurse asks.

"Call him Newt, only his mother calls him doctor," Hermann states, even as he peers over at the tray. It contains a greyish, room temperature soup and yellow jello. "You can leave that, I'll take care of lunch."

Hermann's not sure if there is a way to make this meal dignified but it seems more so if served from a friend than someone who is hired to do so.

"Technically I'm-"

Rather than argue, Hermann shifts the tray closer. 

"That won't be necessary, thank you." Hermann carefully rearranges the tray. "Are you able to do this yourself, Newton?"

Newt looks distressed for a moment and then he shakes his head. The important thing is the motor skills are there are will be there in a few days' time. Then they can go home. It takes time, and that’s just fine.

For today, he sits patiently and quietly beside Newt and helps him with his lunch. The first few spoonfuls are awkward, but they manage. Newt eats half the bowl of soup and all of the jello and this feels like a victory.

The dreams continue to lack any semblance of subtlety. At this point, Hermann’s familiar with the darkness and the difficulty of them. They come every other night or so and he’s not sure what’s worse, when they’re filled with noise or deafening silence. In either case, it’s hard to hear the sounds of the footsteps behind him and to focus on the light ahead. The light, after all, is still just a pinprick after all of the walking he’s done. The hand in his is as cold as death and he’s leading it forward on blind faith alone, and blind faith can only take a man so far.

He wakes up abruptly each time, nonetheless, when he’s snapped out of the dream. Tonight, it wakes Noah, who’s been sleeping beside him peacefully. He always sleeps so well, Hermann realizes. In bed early, asleep soon after turning off the light. If Noah wakes in the night, Hermann doesn’t usually hear him. Sleeping that easily seems almost unnatural to him.

“You alright?” Noah slurs his words. This is the first he’s been allowed to sleep at Hermann’s since Newt woke up. It will likely be the last for some time.

“Yes, of course.” Hermann glances at his phone. It’s already five am. “Just having strange dreams. You can go back to sleep.”

“Sure you don’t want to talk about them?”

“They’re about Newt,” Hermann admits, sinking back down under the covers.

“That’s not really surprising.” Noah’s so understanding, which only ever makes anything harder. “Today’s the big day after all. The homecoming.”

“I don’t know how much home a single bed in a home office is for him, to be honest.”

“He’ll be with someone who cares about his well being and happiness. That’s more than he’s had for a long while.”

Hermann rolls very carefully onto his side so he can face Noah. It’s light enough he can make out the lines of his face, but he can’t see much more. That’s fine, because it’s easier for Hermann this way.

“I don’t mind,” Noah says, but doesn’t really clarify what he doesn’t mind. Hermann knows anyway. It twists at something deep inside of him.

There hasn’t even really been a discussion of what the long term goal for Newt is. The PPDC has given the condition that he lives with Hermann for at least a year, and they’ve allowed Newt to keep enough of his ill gotten gains to live off of for the next decade. The rest was agreed to be donated to charity. Hermann had to argue with Newt for a few moments that he couldn’t donate it all, in fact. The retirement fund he set aside should take care of him once he reaches the correct age.

"You're allowed to mind," Hermann answers, though it's too late. Noah's already sleeping. And he's not really sure what it should mean for Noah to mind anyway.

Despite having a few more hours he could sleep, Hermann chooses to leave bed. He starts his usual routine of coffee and toast and indulges in the quiet of an early morning. After breakfast, he inspects the office to make sure it's up to his standards. The bed is small but he's bought a new duvet and pillows and he's attempted to discreetly put a few of Newt's old things around the room- a guitar in the corner, a framed Star Trek poster on the wall, things that he could easily pass off as saying they've been like that. He doesn't allow himself to think of how strange it will be too have Newt in his home but not his bed.

His bed is warm now, after all, and still occupied by someone else.

The ordeal of the discharge takes nearly five hours, and each of them is given no less than three lectures. A few people stop them to tell Newt goodbye, and the answer he gives is polite and soft but perhaps too easily betrays how little they mean to him. 

Walking is still not Newt's strongest suit due to lack of it for a long period of captivity followed by stasis, but they don't force him to take the chair with him. Hermann insists they do anyway and Newt glares at him the whole while. It thrills him to be at the receiving end of a glare from Newt.

The apartment is empty when they step in (Hermann at least conceded to leaving the wheelchair at the door of the car). He tries not to stare too intently at Newt as he looks around the apartment, searching for something that Hermann can’t even begin to guess. The place is clean, which is actually rare for Hermann these days. He's spent the better part of a decade trying to quell an odd chaos that's crept into his mind.

“This is the living room, obviously,” Hermann begins. “The kitchen is through that doorway. Do you need a drink or anything?”

Newt shakes his head. “It’s a nice place.”

Hermann swallows hard and starts the tour, brief as it may be. He shows Newt the basics of the kitchen, where the essentials are stored and where he’ll have his food in the pantry. It’s already stocked with a few things Hermann knew were once favorites. He takes him to the bathroom next, where he’s laid out a toothbrush and some care products for him. While he doesn’t want to overwhelm with products and care, he doesn’t want Newt to need for anything for the first few days of his freedom.

Newt is quiet, but his hands speak for him. He touches everything he can, as though ascertaining that it's real. When the silence breaks, is deafening.

"What's his name?" Newt asks.

"What's..." Hermann tracks to where Newt's eye had caught the amount of toothbrushes on the holder. Three. Two used and one brand new. "Noah."

"How long?"

"Two years."

"Do you- do-" Newt's voice falters and he steps away. "Where's my room? I think I need a nap."

Hermann wastes no time in escorting him to the room, showing him the pile of comfortable and freshly laundered clothes and where everything is. It looks even more like just a dressed up office now that Newt is actually here.

"Do you need anything else, Newton? I can go to the store while you sleep."

Newt has consented to a voluntary microchip to track his approximate whereabouts. He'd actually requested it when he found out it was an option. Hermann is the only one with the tracking and while he hasn't told Newt, he's vowed never to look at it. If there's any mischief in Newt, he welcomes it with open arms.

"I don't need anything else, thanks. Just nice to have a space where I can be alone for a bit."

The message is received loud and clear. Hermann offers a smile- tight but fond, and turns to leave. He heard Newt sitting on the bed and wants to see him one last time, but he doesn't dare look.

The next day continues quiet. Newt sleeps off and on most of the time, but he manages to wake for meals. Hermann doesn't sleep through the night, listening carefully for any sound of distress. He must be some sort of sadist, he thinks, staring off into the darkness and half hoping that Newt feels pain and needs him. The truth is, Newt has never needed him. Even now he doesn't need him.

There's no time to parse out if things are easier or more difficult when he knows the thing between them has always been and will continue to be want. He doesn't have time for wanting right now.

Karla brings dinner on Newt's second day home. She brings homemade falafel and hummus and Hermann half wants to accuse her of spoiling Newt. He doesn't dare, when he sees the way Newt's eyes light up. 

These days, Newt eats like a starving man. He's putting weight on quickly, which is a relief to see. His build favors softness and seeing him so thin in the hospital bed felt unnatural.

"Has my brother not been feeding you?" Karla asks after his third helping.

"No, I've had plenty. Just nice to have food that's real food," Newt responds. "I've been on a real weird meal plan for a long time."

"To be fair, I don't think anything Hermann makes counts as real food either."

Newt laughs at this. "His food's not half bad these days, actually."

"Only a burnt edge to his eggs?"

"Easily scraped off." Newt smiles at this, it seems small but genuine. There are crow's feet forming at the corners of his eyes. Something in the pit of Hermann's stomach twists sharply, but he quells it with food.

"Don't look so sour, Manny," Karla says, half scolding. " We're teasing."

"Yes, well. Tease as much as you choose," he responds. "But I must feed myself somehow."

"That's why you're still skin and bones."

"I'm no such thing."

Karla shakes her head. "I'm going to go outside for a smoke. Will either of you join me?"

For a moment Newt's brow furrows. "I don't- I don't think I smoke anymore. Haven't really thought about it."

"Not even the green stuff?"

"The green stuff? Honestly Karla, are you twelve?" Hermann retorts, but he rises to clear their plates.

"We all know that was more of Hermann's thing," Newt says. 

"It's for leg pain!"

“So you in or not?” Karla asks, flashing her pack of cigarettes.

“No, no.” Hermann waves her off. “I need to wash these dishes and I’m trying to cut back.”

“I can help,” Newt offers. “With the dishes. Want to make myself useful.”

Part of Hermann wants to protest, but that doesn’t seem right. Newt isn’t a guest here, he lives here and this sort of act would be expected of someone who lives in the apartment. The less he treats Newt this delicately-in this way- the easier for Newt to feel like a roommate and not a charity case. (He’s not- but Hermann can already tell he feels like this at times.)

As he washes, he can see Karla out of the kitchen window. She’s having an animated conversation on the phone and waving her cigarette wildly. Newt has to hold out his hand expectantly for a few plates as he dries.

“Glad to see Karla’s still doing well,” Newt says. “She’s got a...person by the sound of things.”

“Yeah, she does. She’s very happy.”

“Good, she deserves to be. Glad she’s here, both for your sake and mine.”

“I’m sure she’s much more engaging company than I am.”

“Hey, you’re not so bad. You did a good job at not letting me be bored as shit in the hospital. Then again, anything would be better than just sitting alone in the bed.”

He pauses for a moment and takes in the sight of Newt beside him. He’s got the dish towel slung over his shoulder and he’s wearing comfortable clothes, the same he slept in the night before. And the day before. That’s something to discuss later, he’ll give Newt a few more days before he starts to worry. Maybe gently encourage him to wash after Karla leaves. 

Except Karla doesn’t leave until very late. Half the night she spends talking low to Newt, recounting about a decade worth of life on her part. Newt seems to listen attentively enough, even if sometimes he stares ahead blankly. Sometimes it’s as though he goes someplace else and he tries to hide his fear or displeasure with neutrality. Or he’s forgotten himself completely for a few long moments.

When she’s finally left, it’s the quiet hours of the night. Everything is still and full of the dark things that only seem to come out after midnight. Newt’s situated on the corner of the couch with some tea. The blank expression takes over his features and Hermann’s not sure if it’s better to disturb or leave him as he is.

“I’m going to bed, Newton,” he says at length. “If you need anything knock on my door.”

“Do you still have nightmares?” Newt asks, placing his tea down.

“Do I still-”

“When I saw you- that time. You said you had nightmares. Do you still have the nightmares?”

Would it be easy to lie? To stretch the truth? How can Hermann possibly answer this.

“Yes,” Hermann says. “Only they’re different now. But you don’t need to press yourself about it. You have other concerns.”

“I don’t, Hermann,” Newt answers. “It’s been over a decade and I only have dreams. Does that mean something’s wrong with me?”

Hermann shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. I think it’s good- it’s good that you can take this time to focus on yourself. You deserve it.”

“Good night, Hermann.”

“Good night, Newton.”

He offers Newt a parting smile and retreats to his bedroom for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter...finally. I have two more chapters planned for this fic, if you'll believe we're coming that close to the end.

It’s no one’s fault but Hermann’s that he doesn’t prepare Newt properly for Noah. He’s not vain enough to assume that Newt still feels anything tender for him, but it’s still bound to be awkward to be faced with the current partner of your ex in the setting of domesticity. Hermann’s not really sure how Newt experienced the lapse of time, and he’s not vain, but he does know that Newt looked like he was about to kiss him when he first returned to his senses.

He’s expecting Karla, which is why he lets the slip up happen. 

“Newton, be a dear and answer that door,” Hermann calls when there’s a knock. He’s busy trying not to burn their dinner in the last minutes.

It’s only by the time Newt’s at the door that he realizes that Karla absolutely never knocks. She barges in, makes the home her home, and loudly throws herself everywhere. This is a polite knock, someone who is actually a guest.

“Oh, hello,” Noah’s voice carries into the room. “You must be Newton.”

Hermann’s not seen Noah in person for some time, and admittedly has been slow in communication. He’s been preoccupied and no adult would fault him for this, though. There’s a lot of new things in his life to contend with at the moment. Dinner is not one of them, as he rushes out of the kitchen to mitigate any potential disasters.

“Newt. It’s just Newt,” Newt answers, his voice immediate tense. “And you’re him. Uh...Noah, right?”

“I’ve just stopped by to drop off something for Herm-” Noah peers far enough around the corner to see Hermann. “Hey, honey, sorry to intrude, just thought I’d bring you some uh. Fruit.”

In Noah’s hands is one of the overpriced fruit arrangements with some dipped in chocolates. It’s a sweet gesture and clearly a deliberate substitution for flowers. Hermann all but steps in front of Newt to take the offering.

“We’re just about to eat dinner. I’ll see you soon,” Hermann answers, leaning forward to kiss Noah’s cheek.

“He can stay,” Newt speaks up. “He should stay, you haven’t seen anyone but me and your sister in days, I’m sure you’d appreciate talking to someone who isn’t...us.”

This answer should be pleasing to Hermann, an easy transition. No jealousy, no dislike. An easy understanding. Instead, there’s a tightness in his throat that he can’t place, that he won’t allow himself to place.

“If you don’t mind,” Hermann answers, and cuts back to the kitchen, leaving the other two men behind to become introduced properly to each other. They’ll have to get to know each other.

Karla is a godsend. Perhaps not usually, but in the light of a potentially awkward dinner she's an unparalleled gift. She sits across from Hermann and gives him reassuring smiles, even as she teases him only in the way a sister can. There’s a look to her, like she understands that this is awkward, and Hermann needs all the support he can have. Newt and Noah are both mostly quiet, and Newt scarcely looks up from his plate.

Perhaps he's not handling this as well as Hermann had hoped. Then again, Newt's scarcely been in company with anyone in a long while. It's hard to parse out what specifically a reaction does or doesn't mean. As strange as it may seem, Newt not talking isn’t that strange for their current life.

"Has he been burning all of the dinners, Newt?" Noah asks politely, his handsome face crafted into something of warmth.

"Hermann's a good cook, but to be honest I have never had a period of my life with good home cooked meals as an adult," Newt answers, reaching across the table for more bread.

"So you have no real evidence," Karla chimes in, leaning on her hand. "He actually used to watch our mother cook all the time as a kid, with his big eyes soaking up every step of the process. But Father didn't like that."

"Father didn't like a great deal of things," Hermann says with a huff. "But no one is surprised to hear that."

Earlier that very day, Hermann and Newt had shared an awkward exchange revealing that his father had passed. Newt held his arms aloft as if for a hug but it didn't feel right, the gesture lasted for such a short amount of time that Hermann couldn’t even have gone into his arms if he wanted to. That contact didn't belong to a grief Hermann himself didn't know yet how to process.

"It's because you were his favorite," Karla adds.

"I was not!"

"As a kid you were."

"Newt-" Noah saves them from the argument. It’s an old and familiar argument. "Hermann told me your father and uncle are coming to visit in a month."

"Yes," Newt responds, and this compels a smile. "We're hopefully going to talk them into moving to a place nearer here. They're both not as young as they once were and I've barely had time to see them. Not their fault.”

"And your mother?"

Newt huffs out a laugh. "Fuck if I care."

They leave it at that. Hermann delights in Newt feeling genuine emotions, even the negative ones. The negative ones are possibly more important than the positive in processing.

The rest of dinner passes in more trivial conversation- talks of Karla's cat or the state of Noah's office plants. Newt insists on cleaning up the dishes afterwards and Hermann suspects this is so he can have some moments of silence, so he doesn't protest. When Noah offers to help, Newt is insistent that he will do it all on his own.

Everyone else moves to the living room for some coffee and conversation. Hermann's caught up in something before he catches Newt's eye as he stands in the doorway. They both stay like that for a few long moments, caught in each other's line of sight. Something lumbers between their gazes, heavy and terrifying. A darkness that cannot be shaken so easily. 

"There's plenty of room," Karla says, breaking the silence.

"I think I'm going to go to my room," Newt answers. "To read. Feel free to continue without me."

"Are you certain, Newton?" Hermann asks.

"Yeah, of course."

They must have looked too cozy, Hermann thinks, or uninviting. He should not have been sitting so close to Noah, or resting his hand on his knee. This is a thing he must treat delicately, a thing that must take the time it needs. He must tread lightly.

He gives Noah only a chaste kiss good night when he leaves. 

When he dreams of darkness that night, Newt is rattling on. The brightness in his voice seems worth more than the brightness of the light ahead. It's when the talking stops that he starts to turn and startles himself awake.

He hears the creaking of footsteps through the apartment, and forgets himself in a moment of fear. He knows this must be Newt, up for a snack or perhaps because he cannot sleep. The steps pause for a moment, just outside his door. He hesitates, holding his breath, but then the soft tread departs for its own chamber.

"Can you cut my hair?" Newt asks casually over dinner, a few days later. They've met with Noah twice more and have brunch plans with Tendo that very next morning. 

"Can I or will I?" Hermann responds, looking up from his phone.

Newt sighs. "Maybe the question I should be asking is  _ should you.  _ But it's looking like a mess."

Hermann agrees and after they clean away dinner, they set up their salon in the kitchen. Newt had done this for him once or twice in the shatterdome days, but that was usually in one of their cramped bathrooms. This is Hermann’s kitchen, and they are not exhausted or overworked. 

"I think it needs washed first," Hermann remarks.

"I can go-"

"Let me."

Hermann positions the chair so it's against the sink and fetches Newt's shampoo from the bathroom. This reminds him of his childhood, and his mother cutting his hair in their own kitchen. They're both silent as Hermann washes Newt's hair, and gingerly towels it off when he's satisfied. The touches have been minimal since Newt returned and Hermann wonders if this contact is a good thing or a bad thing. He’s only touched Newt for acts of service, and despite the tenderness of this, it’s one as well.

"How do you want this?" Hermann asks, eyeing up his clippers and scissors. 

"Just shave it off."

"Newton."

"It's too much."

"I like your hair."

"So?" Newt is defiant, sitting with his arms crossed across his chest. "It grows back."

Hermann opens his mouth, then closes it. He pauses for a long moment. "Do you want a three?"

"What's a three?"

"Three eighths. You used to cut mine at a two or three."

"Do a three, then."

There's trimming to be done before Hermann can start shaving, and he's as careless as can be in this. There's something sad about the wisps of hair falling to the ground, like fine feathers being shed. The hum of the clippers, at least, pulls him into the methodic hum of the action as they both don't say a word.

Newt's first action upon the completion is to run his hand across the back of his head. He looks pleased with himself, at least. 

"I did this once, when I was about sixteen. Had no fucking clue what I was doing," Newt explains. "It feels liberating. Like being on my own for the first time all over again."

"But you're not on your own."

"On my own, with you. It's all the essentials."

"The essentials?"

"The bottom of the hierarchy of needs, you know?" Newt turns to him, and in the flash of movement, freshly shorn and eager eyed, he looks younger than his years.

"You look different," Hermann says, because if he doesn't say the first thing on his mind, he will start thinking and thinking is very dangerous right now. 

"Well, you just shaved off several inches of my hair."

Hermann tuts in response and leaves Newt to admire his new hairstyle while he cleans up the mess they’ve made. Newt disappears into the bathroom and for a few moments Hermann’s worried there will be a scream or crying or something denoting displeasure. The Newt that reemerges looks the closest thing to happy he’s been since coming home.

At their brunch, one of the first outings since Newt’s release, Newt is back to his relatively quiet self. There’s a certain level of joy that must come up when around such positive and good friends, but even then, there’s a threshold to be had. Newt saves most of his words for Hermann.

“So what inspired the shave, Newt?” Tendo asks, holding up his second virgin mimosa. Newt insists they call them that, instead of orange juice, because this is an occasion.

Newt shrugs. “I just got tired of being weighed down, tethered to something that didn’t feel right anymore. When it grows back, it’ll all be fresh. It’ll be current me.”

Despite the short length, Hermann can see the greys at Newt’s temples, something that was likely concealed by dye and length for some time. He wonders if Newt is ready to contend with that part of his current self. 

“Not going to do anything crazy like a green mohawk then, brother?” Tendo teases, his eyes crinkling pleasantly.

“That’s way too much effort, man. I’m just gonna let it be. Like you do.”

“Ouch.” Tendo touches the back of his head, coiffed as carefully back as he'd done it a decade ago. 

"Sorry, that was a low blow."

Tendo's expression softens for a moment, like he's remembering something. "Don't be sorry, it's nice to have you teasing, for old time's sake."

At that, Tendo extends his glass for a toast. The clinks sound hollow, like the mirth has been sucked from them. Hermann cannot find joy in the act of reminiscing yet, but he hopes it gives others pleasure.

Not all days go as well as brunch. For three days after, Newt refuses to leave his room to do more than eat and wash up. Hermann's policy is to leave him alone, and let him sulk or whatever he may need. He supposes he should ask Newt what he needs, but he fears the answer. 

He's sitting on the couch with Noah, though perhaps a bit too close, when Newt emerges properly.

"Hey Hermann, I wanted to know what you thought about- oh." Newt stops, holding a book out in his right hand. "Didn't realize you were here, sorry for-"

"I had attempted to ask earlier but I believe you were sleeping," Hermann explains. 

An awkward silence follows, swallows the room in its void, before Newt speaks again. "It's fine. We can talk about the book later."

"I was just about to make some tea, come and sit with us."

"I wouldn't want to-"

"It's no problem," Noah answers, perhaps too cheerfully. 

Hermann offers his place when he stands, but he doesn't linger to see if Newt takes his spot on the couch. Regardless, he busies himself with making three cups of tea, all made in precisely the correct way. He can hear hushed talking from the living room, not exactly whispering but too low for him to hear. He's certain from the rhythm of speech his own name has come up. It's not narcissism to assume the two men in the living room would talk about him. That's not the kind of figure he is in this story, after all.

When he emerges, delivering each mug one at a time, there is silence. They agree collectively on a documentary and Newt offers up his spot but Hermann declines. He hasn't been, he thinks, withholding affection from Noah, but there is a line Hermann won't cross now.

Newt stays for as long as is acceptable- until his tea is mostly finished and the dregs are cold, before excusing himself for his room. It's not quite late and Hermann can hear him moving about for about fifteen minutes before he settles in.

"You alright there?" Noah asks. "You were making a cross face, and they're talking about space."

"Got lost on a train of thought for a moment."

"Do you want to stop? Go to sleep?"

Of course Noah is assuming he'll spend the night. That's their arrangement, that's the nature of their relationship. He's been a saint through all of this, and Hermann can't be grateful enough. Deep in him, or perhaps not too deep at all, there's a resentment that seems unjustified. 

"Let's finish the documentary."

For the remainder, he tries not to focus on anything but what he's watching. Hermann mostly succeeds and there are no more comments, save those about what's before him on the screen. The only noise he hears coming from the other room is the faintest sound of snoring.

When the documentary is over, he and Noah fall into a familiar domestic routine. They both change for the night, and take turns washing up. Noah has his own drawer, and is comfortable enough he's beyond the stage of asking questions. Hermann craves these sorts of routines in his life, seeks them out as a reward for service rendered. But what does it really mean or matter?

Before he switches off the bedside light, they share a kiss. It's Noah that pushes further, deepening the kiss and sliding a hand up Hermann's sleep shirt. The last time they've done this was weeks ago and it's a thrilling feeling, being kissed like this. He’s forgotten for a few long moments about the chemistry he shares with Noah, and what it feels to be loved and wanted like this. Man cannot live without any touch for too long. Something in Hermann's brain shrieks for him to stop anyway. 

"Noah, we shouldn't-" he mutters, pushing slightly away.

"Shouldn't?"

"Newton- in the other room. It just doesn't feel right, you know."

"Right, right."

Noah pulls away, folds his hands in his lap, and for a moment Hermann thinks they're done with this. No such luck.

"And- I mean- he's gonna be there for a while," Noah comments. "If I understand correctly. And you won't be coming to my place."

"I suppose not."

"So are we done with uh- being physical?"

"No!" Hermann exclaims. "Perhaps for the time being."

They look at each other for a moment, and Hermann deceives himself that they've made an understanding.

"Do you still love me?" Noah asks.

"Of course I love you," he immediately replies, without another thought. "What kind of question is that?"

Noah shakes his head. "I think I've asked the wrong question. Do you still love  _ him _ ?"

"That's not a fair question at all. We shared something- we were, we were married."

"Are. Legally you are."

"Is that what this is about? Him being my husband."

"Yes and no."

Hermann blinks a few times, indignantly waiting for a response. It's unfair of him, he realizes, to act like this with a man who has been nothing but patient.

When he speaks again, Noah is staring down at his folded hands. "I don't mind waiting to resume what we had. I know Newt's been through something real fucked up. I know you're helping him, and you'll always love him. God, I knew I couldn't compete with him when I met you. But that's the thing about waiting, you know? I need to know I have something I'm actually waiting for."

"I can't guarantee that," Hermann answers honestly.

"The way I see it, there's two endings here. You're the bad guy, and I really don't want that, because you break my heart. Or-" Noah takes a deep breath, but he doesn't resume immediately.

Selfishly, Hermann wants to leave that “or” hanging in the air forever. He knows what's coming, and it stings worse than the accusation of potential infidelity.

"Or?" Hermann asks instead.

"Or I'm the bad guy because I'm keeping you from your soulmate. Either way, one of us is the bad guy and neither of us win."

"So, what can we do?"

"There's nothing to be done, honey. Tomorrow I pack my things, I say goodbye, and I do sincerely hope we can stay friends."

Self loathing seeps in then. Hermann should be begging him to stay, making promises. This is the sort of thing he owes someone who has invested time in him, someone who has loved him. He's just too tired to do that. Instead, he switches off the light. There's something familiar about sleeping next to a man who is no longer his, but he tries not to dwell on this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr @ newtguzzler!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are very appreciated.
> 
> You can find me on twitter @ newtguzzler and tumblr @ pendragoff


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